Melody from the Sky

Shhhh...listen...

The boy stared in awe at the old man producing melancholy harmonics from a 60's blue electric guitar. The boy had never seen an electric guitar before and was completely astonished that fingers could contemplate such majestic movements. The old man smiled at the little boy laying on the hard wood floor of the front porch. He was happy playing his guitar for personal entertainment, and became even more joyous over entertaining his daughters son. 

The little boy was mesmerized by the old man, beaming at the long, bony fingers dancing across the fret board. A small amplifier set next to the old man in his chair, a chord running out the back of the amp and under the screen door into the house. A breeze flew across the porch and cooled the trail of perspiration on the old mans neck. He stared at the dying sun, slipping behind the horizon for the last time. 

The sunset was magnificent. The sun set fire to the sky, burning the clouds with pink and purple flames. At the base of the horizon small hills and trees were silhouetted against the sun and the rest of the invisible universe. A warm tear slipped out the old mans eye and walked down the trail of his wrinkles. The man played a melody from his adolescent life, his mind playing tranquil memories like film before his eyes. The old man drowsed off slightly, but his fingers kept fluttering up and down the neck of the guitar. The sun reflected off his pale blue iris as the old man stared at the last sunset of his life. 

The little boy, head supported by small hands, remained laying on the rug on the floor of the porch, staring with hypnotized eyes. The old mans fingers, jumped from string to string, as if they were in a fight with the guitar. The little boy wondered if the old mans fingers hurt; every time he touched a guitar he ending up pinching his fingers and crying. The old man let a gentle sigh escape his frail body, one of the last sighs of his life. 

The little boy stood up suddenly and looked out into the horizon, as if expecting to see something majestic. He ran down the steps into the dirt and gazed at the bright orange sun, now just about asleep behind the earth. Suddenly the old man stood up too, set his guitar against the wall and kicked the amplifier off. He felt the floor board below tickle gently at his feet, and walked down the porch steps. He stood next to the little boy and looked down at him, putting his withering old hand on his small shoulder. They both heard and felt something, something boiling beneath their feet, something shaking the sky, making the clouds move faster than they have ever seen. 

On the opposite side of the horizon, a loud rushing sound, like the wind, whispered to the old man and the little boy, and they spun around. The clouds were dark gray against the black sky behind them. Behind the small house about two miles away, the old man stared at a massive tornado sucking up the gray clouds. The little boy could not see the tornado because he was too short and the roof of the house was in the way. The old man looked down at the little boy and realized he couldn't see the tornado. The little boy had a calm, yet confused expression on his solemn face. The old man took his grandsons hand and walked him up the steps and into the house. He told him to go sit on the couch and watch TV while he goes back outside. 

The old man made his way through the kitchen and out the back door, instead of the front door, and discovered a frightening scene. The tornado was about a mile away, and he could see a veil of houses and trees and cars robed around the tornado as it stalked its way towards the house. He went back in the house, making his way to the little boy in haste. In the living room the little boy stared at the television screen which displayed a recording of what the old man had just seen in his back yard.